By Charlotte Agell, Brunswick

I want to take you camping
I want the wind to blow your hair around
until you do not care that you are not coiffed.
I want the bugs to bite you, just a little.
(Or possibly a lot.)
I want the real sun to hit your face. It will not
turn you orange, I don’t think.
I want you to stand on your own bare feet on the sweet earthy wormy dirt
of our one precious planet. Earth.
I want you to look into the distance
at the far mountains, and feel grandeur,
I want you to let your eyes rest
on the horizon and imagine peace.
The waves will slap the shore, all night long.
We might have a campfire.
There will be no secret service,
Only a wandering deer, maybe even a bear.
We’ll have separate tents. You can have the biggest.
In the morning you’ll get up
and yawn broadly
and say to the birds, “What have I been thinking
all my life?”
I won’t say a thing.

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